


Foot Soldier

by Conduitstreetcat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Beating, Blood, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Cigarettes, Cookies, Cutting, Dubious Consent, Feels, Guns, Ice Cream, Knifeplay, Laundry, M/M, The power dynamics make consent unclear, Wax Play, mormor, not safe definitely not sane but it's kinda consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-15 02:10:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14149671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Conduitstreetcat/pseuds/Conduitstreetcat
Summary: It all started with a cookie. Things got out of hand, as they do with these two, as Jim explores Sebastian's limits, but finds himself facing some of his own.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThisSimp1eFee1ing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisSimp1eFee1ing/gifts).



Conquer the darkness

Into the darkness

Foot soldier

\-- Foot soldier – Björk (2001)

__________

 

You inconsiderate, lying bastard, Jim. I can’t believe you took the last chocolate chip cookie. I swear … -SM

 

Swear what, darling? You know I have a rule against swearing in the house? Just instated it. Jim xxx

 

Why are they cookies, anyway? They’re just large biscuits. But it was delicious. So sweet and chocolatey, with big, dark chunks… mmmm. Jim x.

 

I bought them! – Seb

 

Well, if you wanted to keep your treats to yourself, you shouldn’t have put them in plain sight under your underwear in your sock drawer. Might I remind you who pays the rent in this place? Jimmy xxx

 

Actually, do we pay rent? Jim

 

What were you doing in my underwear drawer in the first place, you perv!? – Seb

 

I’d run out of clean pants. Your pants were waaaaay too big for me though. I didn’t realize your bum was so large. And the rest of you, of course… ;)  
Don’t we own the owner of the building, or something? Or his daughter? Jimmy Boy x

 

You like my pants. And didn’t you tell me to get rid of the owner discreetly? – Seb

 

… probably. That sounds like the kind of thing I’d say. And yes, I like your pants. On you. They look good. On you. They make creases in my trousers, so I had to go commando. If you’d keep up with the laundry, we wouldn’t have this issue. The Jimster xxx

 

You know you got hands too, you lazy fucker.  – Seb

 

Ooh, my Tiger is showing his teeth, is he? Have you forgotten the no-swearing rule already? And a personal insult, I’d really expected better from you. I’ll have to think up an appropriate punishment.  
I can’t do laundry darling, I’d ruin my manicure. Don’t I pay you for that kind of thing? – Kissies, JM

 

I don’t recall laundry being in the contract. With that and all the surveillance you’ve had me do lately, no wonder I’m too tired for sex. – Seb

 

I like a bit of a challenge. I don’t think I’ve failed to get little Seb to collaborate, well… ever? But if you’d like, I could try to exhaust you enough that it would become really challenging. See how long you can go without sleep and still get it up?  
Anyway, when are you home? I’m getting bored. Jimmythepimmy x.

 

Why don’t you tell me what you have in mind for when I get back, I might be able to get a hard-on selecting fabric softener. I’ll be ten minutes, don’t get your panties in a twist. – Seb

 

I can’t tell you sweetie, you’d have a breakdown and we can’t have you crying in the detergent isle. And I’ll remind you that I’m not wearing any panties thanks to your inferior laundry skills.  Your Kitten

 

Stupid lady is dragging her cart. Am tempted to tell her it’s not a fucking funeral, but it might be if she doesn’t speed up. – Seb

 

Mmm, what might my Tiger want to get home to so eagerly? Don’t get blood on your shirt, you don’t have any clean ones left. Moriarty the Magnificent

 

***

“Honey, I’m home!” Seb yells as he walks in with the groceries.

Jim is standing in the doorway of the bedroom, stark naked. “I had nothing to wear.”

Seb raises an eyebrow appreciatively, but turns back to the grocery bags and starts putting stuff in cupboards like he doesn’t have the most gorgeous man in London standing before him in his birthday suit.

“Sebbie…” Jim drawls, “Daddy wants his sweets now… Come into the bedroom…”

“Daddy will have to wait for a bit or the frozen food will end up in a puddle on the floor and I’m pretty sure Daddy won’t clean that up,” Sebastian grins as he continues putting food away in the fridge and freezer.

“Don’t put that away,” Jim says as he sees the tub of ice cream – vanilla, ironically both their favourite. He grabs a spoon and takes the tub, using his other hand to drag Seb along to the bedroom. “I might have a use for this. Get undressed.”

Seb lets himself be dragged along, not too unkeen to see what Jim has in mind. As he undoes his belt, he notices the handcuffs linked to the headboard. “Worried you can’t handle me?”

“You tend to use your claws and fangs when I get you too excited, and I need to look pristine for my meeting tomorrow. So I’ll keep you tethered for now, and then we’ll see about the handling. Hurry up and get that gorgeous arse out for me.”

Sebastian steps out of his combat trousers, closes the distance between them in two quick strides, and pins Jim against the wall, kissing greedily, pressing his mouth against Jim’s, pushing his tongue in, his hands firmly on the smaller man’s hips, rubbing his still brief-clad crotch against Jim’s nakedness, feeling a definite firming occurring. Jim lets himself be pinned for a moment, enjoying the sensation of the other man’s strong body – it really is a most magnificent work of nature – and returning his greedy kisses. But when Sebastian starts to bite at his throat Jim pushes him away. “Uh-uh. I really meant looking pristine. No bites above the collar line. Get down on the bed.”

“You’d look good in a turtleneck,” Seb suggests as he pushes kisses onto the little mark he made. However, he lets himself be pushed back and sits down on the bed.

Jim points to the cuffs on the headboard. “Wrists.”

“ _You_ eat my cookies and _I_ am the one ending up in cuffs. You’re a real despot, you know that?” Seb complains, as he pulls Jim close for a kiss.

“I’ll give you better than cookies, puppet,” Jim growls into the kiss, and pulls away, to see Seb obediently hold out his arms either side of his shoulders. He momentarily savours the sight. It never ceases to excite him to see this strong, masculine, muscular, deadly man surrender himself to him. He closes first Seb’s right, then his left wrist into the cuffs, leans back onto the foot of the bed. “Hmm, suddenly remembered I have some emails to catch up on…” He makes as if to get up.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Sebastian’s legs shoot out and lock around his body, pulling him back onto the bed, on top of him. Jim smiles appreciatively – he forgets sometimes just how fucking *fast* his Tiger is. He lies on top of the other man, briefly letting himself enjoy the feeling of their cocks rubbing together with only the thin fabric between them, purring in Seb’s ear, loving the anticipation. Then he puts his hands in the waist band of the briefs, pulls them off, and throws them on the disturbingly large pile in the corner. He’ll really have to get a laundry service or something. One that won’t ask too many questions about the nature of the stains. Seb never manages to get blood out of anything anyway; they go through clothes faster than a millionaire’s daughter. Or Seb ruins his expensive shirts by putting them through a boil wash. He turns back to look at the exquisite sight of his beautiful Sebbie lying naked and erect before him. He bends over him and starts kissing, nibbling, biting. It’s not like Seb needs to look representative tomorrow. The latter moans, pulling at his restraints.

“Testing the shackles already, my sweet? Don’t worry, they’re top notch. Don’t damage the headboard though, that’s mahogany,” Jim murmurs as he makes his way across Seb’s chest, trailing the now so familiar pattern of scars with his tongue, stroking his hands over Sebastian’s back, feeling the ridges of the scar that is dearest to him – two vertical lines from the kidneys to the shoulder blades, where they dip down to meet in the middle. Jim doesn’t do love, but he does do possession. He wants things. He makes them his. First London. Now Sebastian. They have a lot in common, actually. Big, impressive, deadly, sexy, and too mouthy by half.

Sebastian groans. “I’d forgotten how boring it is not being able to do anything. Light me a cigarette, would you?”

“Am I not distracting you enough? Need more stimulants? I’m shattered,” Jim says, but reaches down to Sebastian’s trousers for the packet of cigarettes and the lighter. He takes one out, lights it, takes a deep drag, and holds it for Seb to take between his lips. Seb looks surprised, but pleased, and takes the proffered cigarette eagerly. Jim moves up, drawing Seb’s legs together, sitting on top of his strong thighs. With a half smirk, he’s watching his sniper drag on the cigarette, the ash cone getting larger, biding his time, enjoying the show. Rather later than expected, he sees realization dawn on the other man’s face. A moment afterwards, the first ash falls from the cigarette onto his chest.

“You’ll get ash on your precious sheets,” Seb mumbles, looking rather less comfortable than a moment ago. Jim smiles, says nothing, as he watches to see what will happen next. Seb has stopped sucking, but the cigarette burns on relentlessly. A second lot of ash falls off. He bets Seb wishes he smoked filters now. “Jim. Stop fucking around. Take the fucking cigarette, you prick. Please?”

Jim looks as the glowing tip gets closer to the older man’s lips. He’s momentarily intrigued to see what would happen if he didn’t take it, but decides to be magnanimous. Besides, Seb would probably damage the headboard, and it’s antique. “You ask for a cigarette, you get one, then you start whingeing – there’s no pleasing you, is there?” he says, as he takes the burning butt from between Seb’s lips, and flicks the last ash onto Seb’s chest, who sighs, torn between relief and exasperation.

Jim’s dark eyes light up as he eyes the cigarette, snakes down, bends over, and slowly brings the glowing tip to a few millimetres from the tip of Sebastian’s erection. Intrigued, he looks at the reflection of the glow in the glans. He has always been fascinated by fire, by the destruction it can cause. He leans in and sucks at the butt. The tip is 900°C now. Seb is lying *very* still, looking at him unblinking, wisely not saying anything.

He could cause so much pain with such little movement… but no, not now, and not this bit of him, it’s too enjoyable. He reluctantly pulls the fag end away, crushes it in the ashtray next to the bed. “Still bored, Tigger?”

Again, Seb wisely chooses not to comment, yet strains to look at his cock, trying to see if there was any damage caused. “It rather seems you might need some cooling down.” Jim picks up the ice cream container and opens it, takes a spoonful, licking it, flicking his tongue around the sweet stuff and the spoon suggestively. It appears to have an effect – Seb’s cock twitches. He takes some more ice cream from the tub, fills his mouth, bends over, and opens his mouth over Sebastian’s cock, letting the ice-cold cream surround the head.

Seb makes a sound that could almost but not quite be a whimper, a shiver running through his body, but keeping his crotch admirably still. “Ah - you bastard,” he pants.

“Wrmwhmzhhm,” Jim agrees. The ice cream is melting in his mouth and he carefully sucks up the sweet milk, though why he bothers, the sheets are already dirty, keeping the cold stuff touching Seb’s tip as long as possible, whilst the latter shivers and pulls at the cuffs, moaning intermittently. But no more insults. No need to bite. As the last cream has melted, he sits up. “Poor Sebbie, you’re all cold. Want another cigarette?”

“You’re not half as funny as you think you are, you know,” Sebastian bites.

Jim raises his eyebrows. “I know; you poor thing, beholden to a humourless depraved creature like me. I can see that you’re absolutely devastated,” he says with a nod at Seb’s eager cock. Time to heat things up, it seems. He lights the candle on the bedside table.

“I would ask if you’re trying to be romantic, but…” Sebastian comments.

“You know me Sebbie. Romantic is my middle name.” Jim picks up the candle, holding it at an angle, to melt the wax faster. When he has a reasonable well going, he tips the candle gently, so little droplets of wax drip onto Sebastian’s chest, just a drip at a time, not too fast or too close together… yet. “Unfh – you kinky _bastard_ ,” Seb groans.

“Oh yes – THAT was my middle name! Thanks for reminding me. I forget sometimes.” Jim keeps up his wax painting, enjoying the little twitches of Seb’s skin where the wax lands. He tilts the candle a bit further, so the droplets drip faster, creating a nice steady line. Sebastian’s twitches come quicker now. Jim concentrates on his art, trying to write his name in longhand, but the wax is too erratic. He looks down at Seb’s erection, jumping in time with his twitches, and makes his way slowly to his sensitive lower belly. He moves the candle over Seb’s left leg, then up again, letting the drips fall on his balls, carefully making a hot line upwards over the shaft of the penis to the tip, pouring the rest of the molten wax on the top, making Seb jump so beautifully. He blows out the flame. It appears Seb’s resistance is low today – he is moaning already.

“Oh Sebbie, I’ve only just started. You’re so beautiful when you sweat like that, you know that? And moan – let’s see if I can make you whimper, shall we?” Jim reaches for the ice cream tub again.

“Jim- please!” Seb groans as Jim takes another large mouthful of ice cream and bends over Seb’s cock, letting the icy sludge surround the head of his cock. He loves making his sniper beg. He is so incredibly hot when he’s desperate. He soon realizes the flaw in his plan though – the ice cream is now getting bits of hardened wax in it, which means he is forced to let it leak out of his mouth instead of drinking it. Oh well, Seb seems to enjoy it tickling down his shaft and balls, judging from the twitching. He holds the cream in his mouth until it’s all melted, relishing the shivers and goose bumps, then takes a wet wipe and carefully cleans cream and wax off his lover’s cock.

Hmmm, what next? This evening is proving to be much less boring than he’d feared. He looks intently into Seb’s eyes, trying to gauge his mood. The latter looks back defiantly. “Liked the ice cream? If you continue to suck, I’m sure you’ll be able to get some whipped cream to go with that.” Oh, good Tiger. Nowhere near demoralized then.

“Mmm, attractive thought. However, you appear to have broken the no swearing rule several times again, and I haven’t even started to punish you,” Jim says, and leans down for a deep, toothy, bity kiss.

“You can keep my new cookies, how is that?” mumbles Seb as he pulls back his mouth.

“I’m not a glutton like you. No, I need something better…” a flick of his hand, and he has Seb’s hunting knife in it, the one he keeps in a sheath attached to the bottom of the pillowcase. He presses it to Sebastian’s throat, not *quite* piercing the skin. Jim looks into Seb’s eyes deeply again, his own eyes completely black. Seb is instantly completely still, breathing very calmly, making sure his throat doesn’t quiver. Superb reflexes. Jim just adores seeing Sebastian’s elite training display itself, though he doubts that the SAS had *quite* this scenario in mind.

He moves the knife gently across Seb’s throat, picking out the places where just a tiny bit of pressure would end this life. Not that he’d do that to Sebbie – not unless he fucked up badly. He’s way too valuable, and frankly sexy, to waste. _And dear to you, Jimmy? – Shut up, voice in my head, or I’ll start taking the pills again._ He moves slowly down from Seb’s throat, tracing down the chest, picking the wax off with the tip of the knife, nibbing the skin here and there, but nothing deep. Seb starts breathing more deeply.

“You bought more cookies? Careful Tiger, can’t have you getting fat. I’d have to perform liposuction.” Jim strokes the tip of the knife across Seb’s stomach, which doesn’t show a grain of fat, then moves further down his legs, and leans over his penis, regarding it with interest. It doesn’t show any inclination of slacking, not even when he holds the tip of the knife against its base, carefully just next to the vein, so any involuntary movement on Seb’s part – he doubts army training included this after all – won’t lead to him bleeding out on the bed, and starts flicking his tongue around the head, which tastes vaguely of alcohol.

“Uhn…” Seb groans, “Just be careful with that. You don’t want to have to explain to the paramedics that you chopped off my cock because you ate all my cookies. Besides, I wouldn’t be half as much fun for you.”

“Mmm,” Jim acknowledges. He loves finally having a lover that holds his own, instead of shrinking away petrified from the terrible Moriarty’s attentions. He got bored with those guys so quickly, and disposing of them was always a hassle. He concentrates on sucking Seb’s head whilst not injuring him with the knife. Well – maybe just a little nick.

“Ouch – you psycho!” Seb shouts out.

_That’s the wrong word. That’s very much the wrong word, Sebbie._

Jim sits upright, his expression unreadable, his eyes black. He wrenches Seb’s legs apart, sits down on his left shin, and traces the tip of the blade down his inner thigh, leaving a thin trail of blood in its wake. Fuck the sheets. This is personal.

Seb groans, arches his back, pulls in vain at the cuffs, but his cock gets even harder, if such a thing is possible. Ah Seb, you marvellous adrenaline junkie. He should have taken the silk sheets off and put cotton ones on, really. Oh well, that’s the prospective cleaners’ problem. He has a Tiger to tame.

He trails the knife past the knee over the side of the calf, concentrating on keeping the cut nice and shallow, but not breaking it, enjoying the challenge. Seb is marvellous at keeping still under torture, fortunately.

“Jim…” he moans, but Jim keeps silent, concentrating on his unbroken line. He turns around, sits on Seb’s leg facing the other way, trailing the knife past the ankle. He wonders how he would respond if he trailed the sensitive bottom of his foot? Only one way to find out. He swirls the line from the ankle towards the heel, twirls it elegantly around, and starts working his way upward over the heel.

“What the fuck!?” Seb shouts, as his foot shoots away from under Jim and tucks under his right leg. “That’s a no-go zone!”

Aw. He was having such fun. “You broke my perfect line, Sebastian. Try to do better with the other foot. Don’t make me tie you to the bed; it could get messy if you can’t keep still.” Jim calmly turns around to start on the other leg. He’ll try to make it perfectly symmetrical. He puts the knife at the very top of Seb’s right leg, between the scrotum and the thigh.

“Not on the feet, the feet are too much. Did you get that?” Seb’s voice is starting to sound a bit uncertain now.

“My darling darling Sebbie. When will you learn that you don’t get to tell me no?” Jim asks, as he makes his way down the inner thigh. He’s getting good at this, a perfect straight line of equal depth, with exquisite tiny droplets of red blood making their appearance in the knife’s wake.

“I don’t like that,” Seb states, trying to sound firm and confident.

“But *I* do, honey. I want to test your limits, and that doesn’t work if you tell me in advance, does it? Don’t worry; I’ll tie your foot to the bed frame so you can’t move it. It will just be a thin line, like the one down your leg. It’s ok, you can scream. I won’t tell anyone,” Jim calmly explains as he makes his way further down the leg.

“Prick,” Seb sighs, as he turns his face to the pillow, ready to bite it.

Oh Seb. Marvellous, wonderful, incredibly sexy Seb. Jim had been momentarily worried this could turn into a struggle, but there he is, offering himself up to him, not trying to hide his foot, not trying to change his mind. Jim’s cock does an involuntary leap at the sight of his second in command turning his face into the pillow to smother his screams. This night has turned out to be exquisitely interesting indeed. He had never expected when he got the tall man to be his bodyguard that he’d be any use except as a good hired gun – but he’s delighted that he’d eventually decided to try to put the body into bodyguard.

Right, safety first. He doesn’t want to cripple his best man. He takes the rope out of the bedside cabinet and carefully ties Seb’s right foot to the rods at the end of the bed, wrapping the rope around his ankle and toes so he can’t move it too much. Of course Sebastian is more than able to rip the entire rods out of their sockets, but he hopes that he will manage to restrain himself enough not to do so. He tests the rope – seems solid. Then he puts the tip of the blade at the bottom of the heel, driving it in slightly, drawing a single bead of blood. “Ready?”

Seb whimpers something indiscernible. God, that sound is hot. Jim isn’t sure if he’s heard Seb make it before, but he is certain he will want to hear it again. Slowly he draws the knife up the bound foot, watching the muscles twitch, the toes curl, hearing the muffled sounds come from between the pillow and Seb’s mouth, which is now biting it. He drags the knife slowly, carefully, trying to make one even line, slightly deeper than in the leg, wanting to drag out this moment of exquisite agony, savouring every second of it. Everything seems clearer, more in focus, the red of the blood brighter, the sounds purer. Seb groans, shivers, shouts into the pillow. Jim ends his beautiful cut with a line along the middle toe. Marvellous, Seb, marvellous. He gets up and licks along the cut in the foot, sucking up the blood as he unties the rope.

“You’re gross,” Seb pants, his eyes wide, the pillow wet with his saliva. “Have you had your fun? Could you now please do something to my cock that doesn’t involve torturing it?”

Jim looks down at Seb with something that might almost be tenderness. His brave sexy Tiger. He has to admit he’s earnt his fun – and maybe even his revenge. He takes the keys from the shelf and undoes the handcuffs. Then he throws his arms out wide. “No marks above the collar line. Otherwise I’m all yours.”

He glances at Seb, challenge in his eyes. Wonders what he will do. Seb moves his arms, rolls his shoulders, then slowly gets off the bed, looking at Jim warily, wincing when he steps on his wounded foot. Then he lunges, grabbing Jim, smashing him against the wall, kissing him violently, tasting his own blood, moving down to Jim’s shoulders and biting eagerly, using his hands to grope his back, his hips, his arse, rubbing his cock against himself, gasping. Then he picks the smaller man up and throws him onto the bed, jumping after him. “Legs apart, prick; I’m going to make you cry.”

Jim’s cock jumps at the words, but he’s not a man to be ordered around. He likes to be conquered. Call him old fashioned. Seb grabs his thighs none too gently, wrenches them apart. That’s more like it. Jim grabs Seb’s back, digs his nails into the flesh, scratching them down, as Seb grabs the lube from the night stand. Jim wraps his legs around Seb’s arse, trying to pull him closer. “Easy boss, I still need to prepare you, you don’t want any tears on your insides,” Sebastian warns, freeing himself of Jim’s embrace enough to soak a finger thoroughly before sliding it into Jim.

Oh yes Tiger. Oh that’s it. Oh you’re just too good to be true. I am pushing you to the very edge of endurance, and you still care about not harming me. What did I ever do to deserve you? Jim moans as he pushes himself down onto Seb’s finger, yearning to be sated, hungry for that gorgeous cock to fill him to breaking point. Seb soaks a second finger and it joins the first, scissoring his fingers apart in order to open him up more quickly. Jim bites Seb’s neck, collar bone, shoulder, anything he can reach. Oh god Seb you’re amazing. The army were crazy to let you go, you’re a fucking bona fide genius. He slides onto Seb’s fingers eagerly, not caring about the slight discomfort the stretching causes, needing Seb to fill him up, now, please. At that moment, Seb’s questing fingers find the little bundle of nerves and curl up and Jim throws his head back and *howls*. Quickly Seb withdraws his fingers, slaps some lube on his cock, and pushes in. Jim eagerly bears down on Seb’s cock, god, does the thing never end? fuck fuck fuck, that feels good. It feels great to be filled, to be taken, by this marvellous magnificent man. He claws at the other man’s bottom, draws him in deeper, deep as you can, Seb, please, Seb, Seb, SEB!!

Seb bites Jim’s shoulder as he slowly starts to move with gentle thrusts. Jim’s hands are all over him, scratching down his back, grabbing his arse and pushing him deeper, grasping the hair on the back of his head and dragging him down for a voracious kiss. “Fuck’s sake Seb, stop treating me like a shrinking violet and fuck me like a man! I promise I won’t break!” Jim moans, dragging a particularly deep furrow along Sebastian’s back with his nails. And finally, FINALLY, it seems like he’s pushed Seb over the edge of self-control – the sniper lets out an animal groan, bends over and kisses him savagely, drawing blood, grabs his wrists and holds them down on the bed, and starts pounding in earnest.

Ah, fuck, that’s it. Jim briefly reflects that there was something about not breaking his lips, but he doesn’t remember, and couldn’t care less now. He’s losing himself in a cloud of sensation, the burning from his torn lip, the agony and ecstasy of that gorgeous big cock ramming inside him, culminating the arousal that has been building up during his torture of Seb. He knows if he touched his cock now he would explode. He lets his hands be held though, wanting to prolong the experience, also wanting to give Sebastian a chance to come inside him. His body contorts, squeezing his muscles around Seb’s cock as he clasps his legs around his back. He is no longer coherent, is floating off on a cloud 9 of sensation. He thinks he is babbling something – it might even be English – or it might be Seb, or all in his head. All he sees are the images of Seb’s body, the bloody line he’d drawn, the exquisite cock, the way he’d jumped and grabbed him, that and the sensation deep in his body of being fucked properly, filled up to bursting, take him to the very edge of sentience.

Despite his trance-like state, Jim is *very* aware when Seb finally comes inside him - the hot liquid filling him up even further, carrying him up even further, floating above London, king of all he surveys. Jim groans. Seb keeps going, oh god, he’s keeping going, amazing, loyal, fucking awesome Seb, but he’s let go of Jim’s hands, and Jim reaches down, knowing he’ll only need a moment, he’s *so* on edge.

One, two practiced strokes, and he’s seeing purple fireworks behind his eyes, an electric bliss spreads through his entire body, radiating from his cock outwards, as gulf after gulf of rapture erupts from him. He feels his body spasm as surges of pleasure shoot through it.

As the waves subside, Jim is vaguely aware of Seb’s shrinking cock sliding out of him. Ever so slowly, bit by bit, he feels himself sinking back into reality, but it’s a soft reality, not really quite there, without the biting edges it normally has. It is a warm reality, with a pleasantly comfortable feeling in his cock, gentle glowing of the bites and scrapes, endless relaxation, as he’s sinking deeper and deeper into the mattress. He feels Seb flop down beside him, throwing his arm around him, pulling him close. He doesn’t usually let himself be held. Too constricting. But at the moment he couldn’t move out of Sebastian’s arms even if he wanted to, and to be honest, he doesn’t want to – somehow the strong gentle arms feel safe rather than confining. Slowly he slides into a deeper state of relaxation, despite a small but more alert fraction of his mind warning him that the bed is an absolute mess of ashes, blood, ice cream, sperm, sweat, and wax. He supposes he should throw these sheets out, as well as the mattress. But he won’t change the carpet. He looks at the bloody footprints leading from the bed to the wall and back, and smiles. He can’t wait to add the prints for the left foot.


	2. It's complicated

The prisoner who now stands before you  
Was caught red-handed showing feelings  
Showing feelings of an almost human nature  
This will not do

\-- The Trial – Pink Floyd (1979)

\----------

Sebastian leans down to kiss Jim, licking around his mouth, where there is blood mixed with some dried up ice cream. “You’re gross,” he says with amusement in his voice.

“Mmm,” Jim purrs. He is a bit surprised at how relaxed he is. He feels he could quite happily drift off to sleep like this, but the thought of waking up all sticky is rather disgusting. Besides, there are open wounds to deal with. He is nothing if not a responsible pet owner.

“Get in the shower, I’ll get some disinfectant out. The wounds are quite shallow, but it’s best to be safe. I guess we’ll have to sleep in the spare bed. I’ll get new stuff delivered in the morning. You keep soiling the nest Tiger…” Jim shakes his head.

“Shower with me?” Seb suggests, slipping off the bed and limping to the dresser. He opens the drawer, only to find it rather devoid of clean underwear.

“Yes, I’m filthy,” Jim agrees. He follows Seb’s gaze. “Looks like we’ll both be going commando. I’ll get some clothes delivered as well as the bed. And arrange a laundry service since you’re so bloody busy.” He glances at Sebastian’s foot. “Surveillance is going to be interesting for you tomorrow. At least you’ll be thinking of me every other step.”

“You’re hilarious, you really are.” Seb grabs two towels (thank fuck they still have clean towels) and heads into the bathroom. Jim takes the first aid kit that he keeps in the bedroom by now because, well, it’s convenient, and sets it on the shelf in the bathroom.

“Shower first, then we’ll have a look at your foot. And watch that mouth Moran, I’m less cuddly and sweet after orgasm.” Jim turns on the shower, scalding hot, the way he likes it, and gets under the flowing water. Seb moves back from the spray. “I’m not getting in that. I don’t know how you don’t get third degree burns.”

Reluctantly, Jim regulates the water to a lower temperature. “You Eton boys and your cold showers. How are you ever going to get properly clean?” He shivers as the water cools down, barely tepid to his skin, grabs a sponge, puts some soap on it.

“Come here, let me clean you up.” He always feels responsible after a session like this, an urge to take care of his Tiger, patch him up. He likes to keep his favourite possessions in good order.

Seb gets into the shower, turns his face up to the water. Then he reaches a hand out to Jim’s face and moves a wayward strand back behind his ear, strokes his wet hair. He leans down and kisses him, gently, the water running over them both. For a long moment, they just stand there, under the soft stream of water, not speaking, not moving, their lips just touching, occasionally licking a droplet from each other’s lips. It’s a mild moment, that seems significant somehow.

Finally, almost reluctantly, Jim moves, and starts soaping down his lover, carefully rubbing off the dried blood, taking care not to reopen any of the cuts and scrapes, gently using his nails to get rid of the wax. With deep concentration, he cleans Sebastian’s body from top to bottom, only stopping twice to suck the blood from a cut that hasn’t closed yet. When he is satisfied the other man is as clean as he is going to be, he hands over the sponge to Seb, who does the same to him. Their soapy bodies rub together, slick and slippery, and Jim feels his cock stir again ( _Calm down, will you?! We’re hardly teenagers. It’s been a half hour!_ ). He tips his face up, lets them sink into a kiss again, the water washing the soap off their bodies. After a long time, he grudgingly turns away, and stops the water flow, extracting himself from Seb’s arms to grab a towel. It’s nice, this domestic bliss. He could almost get used to this. Sebastian is adorable, despite his bad mouth.

However.

As the taller man reaches out to get his own towel, Jim backhands him across the mouth. “I said no marks above the collar line. I expect my instructions to be followed.” He looks at the trickle of blood coming from Seb’s mouth, leans toward him, sucks at the torn lip.

Sebastian looks slightly betrayed, rubbing at his mouth.

“Sit down, let me look at your foot,” Jim says. “I think the rest is alright, but your foot might need disinfecting, it’s a bit deeper than the rest, and it’s still bleeding.”

“… you madman,” Seb mumbles, but without venom, and reaches out to ruffle Jim’s hair. He normally can’t stand that, but he hasn’t styled it yet, and it actually feels kind of pleasant. Sebastian wraps his towel around him and uses it to drag him towards him, bending over to suck the water droplets off his chest.

“If you’re going to suck, may as well do it some place useful,” Jim says, pushing Seb’s shoulders down. Obediently, Sebastian gets onto his knees, takes hold of Jim’s cock, starts licking around the tip.

“Mmmm,” Jim purrs, leaning back against the towel rack. He reaches down, takes Seb’s head, strokes his wet hair. Getting Seb to live with him has to be one of the most genius ideas he’s ever had. Seb opens his mouth wider, licks around his shaft, then takes him as deep as he can. He’s been practicing this, and he’s got bloody *good*, taking him all the way in, causing a jolt of pleasure to ripple through his body.

Jim squints his eyes nearly shut in pleasure as he looks down at his naked bodyguard, on his knees before him, sucking deep, his eyes closed in concentration; and he contemplates that there probably is not a more lovely sight in the world. When he first saw Sebastian, he’d assumed he was straight, liked pretty girls who looked in awe at his muscles, enjoyed being on top. He’s never been so glad to have read someone wrong.

Sebastian has grabbed the base of his cock and is alternating taking him in deep with licking, kissing, and sucking, looking up at Jim with bedroom eyes that make his cock twitch. Fuck Seb, don’t look like that. Fucking hell, you know what you’re doing. You got me rock hard again already. I’ll never get any work done like this.

Jim grabs the hair closer, pushes Seb’s head down deeper. Seb groans and fumbles with his free hand to grab his own cock while he’s getting his face fucked.

“Hands off,” Jim says, leaning back his head as he enjoys the sensation of Seb’s head moving up and down. Seb makes a strangled sound that could be construed as a formal protest, but his hand stays by his side, and that is just hot. So he gets off on power. So what? He’s the most powerful man in London, soon England. What’s the point if you don’t enjoy it?

That reminds him. He needs to get to work. Get Seb’s foot cleaned up, then he really needs to check his emails.

“That’s enough,” he says, pulling Seb’s head back so he slides off his cock, grabbing his towel and finishing drying himself off. “I need to do some work, and first I need to have a look at your foot. Sit on the side of the bath and lift your leg.”

Seb looks puzzled, then hurt, then cross, finally resolute. He takes Jim’s hips, pushes him back against the towel rack and resumes his previous efforts.

“I’m delighted my cock is so irresistible to you my darling, but I do expect my orders to be followed immediately and to the letter,” Jim says as he pulls Sebastian’s hair back once again. Careful now Tiger. Don’t push it.

Seb looks offended, gets up with a huff, walks into the bedroom and puts on some sweatpants and a t-shirt. Jim is always puzzled by this urge to get dressed as soon as he gets out of the shower. He feels perfectly comfortable walking naked around his own house. Probably it gives Seb a place to keep his weapons – he doesn’t like being without them. Though Jim wonders if it might not actually be scarier to be attacked by a naked unarmed man. Maybe they should try it out some time – send in a naked Moran to terrify some minion who’s fucked up. He likes the idea, files it away for later.

“Come over here, give me your foot,” he says as Seb is dressed.

“No. I’m off to bed,” Seb sulks, stomping off to the spare bedroom, leaving Jim standing holding the first aid kit, feeling a dark sensation start to boil in the pit of his stomach.

One slip he can tolerate. But this is starting to look like deliberate insubordination. He walks into the bedroom, picks up Seb’s cigarettes and lighter, lights one, and walks into the spare room, where Seb is lying on his side on the bed, his back to the door, blankets drawn up over his face. Fucking drama queen.

Calmly Jim walks over to the bed, flips up the blanket to reveal Seb’s lower legs, his bare feet. He takes another drag at the cigarette. 900°C. He takes the cigarette out of his mouth. 400°C. He stabs the burning fag end in the middle of Seb’s uninjured foot.

“ _FUCK!_ ” Seb shouts and jumps upright, pulling his feet underneath him. “What the FUCK is wrong with you Jim! Fuck off and leave me alone!”

“Moran, I think you’re rather getting above yourself. Neither you nor your precious cock are irreplaceable, and you only have value if I can count on you to do exactly as I say, when I say it. Don’t think I won’t get rid of you just because you’re a good shag.” Jim’s voice sounds low and impassive. He stares straight ahead at the doorway, the cigarette in his hand.

He hears Sebastian move behind him, feels the bed move as the sniper lies down again. “Go ahead then, kill me.”

He gets up, his eyes big and dark, his brow furrowed. He hates it when they do this. They always do this. Testing him. Pushing buttons. Somehow if he lets them close enough, they want to pry, probe, push. They always end up dead, of course. Or, if they’re really valuable, maimed. He supposes Seb falls in the latter category. He walks back to the bedroom, comes back with the knife, flicks up the sheets again, and sits on Sebastian’s legs. “Left or right?”

“What the _fuck_ do you want Jim?!” Sebastian shouts as he pulls his legs away from under him.

“Put your legs back Moran,” Jim says, still in that flat voice, his eyes black and unreadable.

“Why? What the fuck are you doing!?”

“I’m going to cut off a toe, Moran. Because it’s you, only the little one. Left or right?”

“What the… fuck off, no, look, Jim, you are *not* cutting off my toe! Stop this. This is enough now.”

Jim’s expression is blank, his voice flat. “This is not negotiable, Moran. I am the ideal boss – generous, sexy, giving perfect career opportunities. In return, I demand obedience. I am not making an exception for you.” He reaches for the gun on the sideboard. “Now give me a foot. Either one. I assure you you’re lucky, most people would be dead by now.” He cocks the gun.

Sebastian looks him in the eyes, his expression, like that of all normal people, so easily readable. Betrayal. Hurt. Anger. Pain. No fear. Never fear, with Moran. His stomach clenches. There’s something else there. Admiration? Lust? ( _L- No._ )

“Go on then. Shoot me.”

He cannot tolerate insubordination. Simply can not. It will lead to mutiny and his empire will fall. His entire business model is built on fear. Oh sure, genius, hard work, careful planning are a solid basis, but people do what he says because they’re terrified of him. He has never let anyone get away with not doing what they’re told. Never. He can’t start now. Sebastian will be running circles around him in no time if he gives in now.

 

Oh Seb, why?

 

He shoots.

 

Seb’s left little toe is gone, the mattress explodes in a cloud of stuffing.

Jim throws the gun on the floor and walks out, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

He walks to the main bedroom, opens the wardrobe, grabs a tracksuit, a pair of trainers. Walks out the front door, banging it shut behind him, runs down three flights of stairs, gets out of the building into the cold air of night-time London. It’s raining, of course. That’s why his face is wet.

 

He walks aimlessly for a long time, without thinking, getting thoroughly soaked, not really noticing. He smells wet grass, and realizes he’s in front of Queen’s Gate. A quick scramble, and he’s across, walking through Hyde Park, his trainers sopping in the soaked fields. He might be getting cold. He doesn’t really know.

His phone buzzes with a text. He ignores it, not in the mood for work, or Seb, or anything. He keeps walking, past the Serpentine. Wonders idly if he’d get much wetter if he’d walk into it. He’s angry, disgruntled, ( _sad? – Shut up._ ), disappointed.

 

He realizes with a start that he’s being followed, and has been for a bit. As he becomes aware of this, he also notices two silhouettes under the trees in front of him. He’s briefly shocked at how distracted he must have been not to notice anything.

He feels his phone vibrate again as he hears footsteps running up behind him. He manages to turn around quickly enough to dodge the tall man trying to knock him over the head, and gets a punch into the stomach of the second guy. However, the first one has turned round and there are two more blokes running up from what is now behind him. He wheels around in a reflex, but then changes his mind – stands still as they charge him.

“Hey guys. So lovely to see you! I don’t have any dosh, sorry. I have a *very* cool phone though.” Jim takes it out of his pocket and holds it out in front of him. He sees the name Sebastian Moran over some text messages and missed calls. As the dark silhouettes approach, he pulls his arm back and throws the phone into the Serpentine, startling a coot which flaps up squawking. Within seconds, they are on him. He doesn’t resist.

 

When they leave him, he has trouble breathing, the left side of his ribcage is a mass of pain, his left eye is closing, and his nose is clogged up with blood. His right eye sees blood glimmering on the small stones in the asphalt, being washed away by the rain. His entire body hurts, but he doesn’t believe anything major is broken. Some ribs, probably. They’ve taken his trainers. He tries to get up, but the moment he raises his head, the world goes black.

 

His head rings, his entire body aches. He hears a shout. A shout that sounds a lot like Seb, but it can’t be, Seb isn’t here. He tries to raise his head again, but that makes the world spin like crazy and his stomach lurch into his throat. With a groan, he lowers his head back onto the ground. His vision is obscured by two very familiar combat boots, and a hand touches his head, his arm. “Jim? Jim, are you alright? Jim?! Who did this to you?!”

It’s Seb. Seb is here. Jim raises his face, tries to smile, despite knowing he must look horrid – his mouth is full of blood and one of his eyes won’t open.

Seb. Seb walked on two crippled feet to find him. Fuck knows how he knew where he was. He maimed him and he somehow made his way over here and now it seems that all he wants to do is kill the stupid kids who beat him up. He can’t help it, he starts laughing. It’s better than the alternative.

 

On second thought, bad idea. Laughing hurts. Probably five ribs broken. “Some dumb kids. Must have thought I was a drunk, an easy target,” Jim croaks. “They wanted my phone, so I threw it in the lake. They didn’t seem too happy about that.” He notices Seb holding his hand.

“Right. I’m taking you home. I’ll get those kids later.” Seb looks around, as if he can make them manifest by glaring hard enough. “Anything broken, you reckon?”

“Four or five ribs, all on the left. I think I have a concussion. Nothing major. They seemed well familiar with this area, so if you insist, you can go look them up some later time. I can walk, just need some support. And I’ll probably throw up when you get me upright, so just make sure to stand away from me. Did you bring any of the drivers?”

“Drivers? No,” Sebastian says, wrapping his arm around Jim, carefully helping him sit up. “I can call one. We need to get you home.”

He walked. He walked all this way. He has one foot that’s cut open and one toe that’s been shot off and he walked all the way over here to find him. That’s as far as the realization goes before his stomach contracts, saliva floods his mouth, and dinner comes out the wrong way. Sebastian supports his upper body as he leans over and lets his stomach empty itself until there’s nothing left, then waits for the contractions to stop. Finally he can get up onto his feet, leaning on Seb with his right arm, letting Seb support him with his left, carefully avoiding the broken ribs. Seb is on the phone to a driver, arranging to meet them where they won’t have to climb over a gate to get to the road. Jim carefully puts one foot in front of the other, leaning on Sebastian, who appears to hardly be limping at all, just regarding him with a concerned expression.

“How did you know where I was?” Jim asks. Seb hesitates for a second before answering, “Tracker in your phone. Had it put in last time you sent me to have it fixed, when you’d cracked the screen. I thought it might come in handy in case you got kidnapped or something.”

Jim is briefly taken aback by this blatant invasion of his privacy, but has to admit that it has turned out to be a good idea. Also, it isn’t like he doesn’t have a tracker in Seb’s phone.

It seems to take forever for them to reach the edge of the park, but they make it, and a car is waiting. Seb opens the back door, very carefully lowers Jim to the seat. Before he can close the door and walk around the car to get into the other side, Jim looks up at him. “Seb – thank you.” He sees the surprise register in the other man’s eyes, before he turns around and addresses the driver, “Get us to Dr Rogers.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever thanked Seb. Sure, he’s said “Cheers,” when he passed the salt and things like that, but ever said _thank you_ and meant it? He can’t recall. He doesn’t say thanks. He also doesn’t apologize. He most definitely does not apologize.

Seb is sitting next to him, his hand hesitantly reaching out to him. “Jim… you should go home. You need to go to bed. There’s nothing a doctor can do for broken ribs and concussion, except prescribe painkillers, and I can pick those up. Or do you have any other injuries you haven’t mentioned?”

“No. But it’s best to be sure. And you need your feet seen to as well.” Remorse is another thing he doesn’t do.

“You should rest, Jim.” He feels himself gently be pulled back, and allows himself to rest his head on the strong shoulder. It feels good to have gentle arms around him. He thinks he could easily start thinking of this as home, and that is dangerous. It could lead to dependence, and dependence ruins men. He almost pulls out of the embrace, but then decides that just for now, he’ll let himself indulge. Just a bit. It’s been a long day, and he’s feeling rough, and Seb’s shoulder is comfortable. He looks out of the window to avoid carsickness adding to his nausea.

The trip is quick, even London traffic reasonably quiet at this time of the morning. They pull up at an elegant house in Pimlico, the only one with lights on. The door opens to reveal an impeccably dressed older man, overweight, but bearing himself with elegance. “Mr Moriarty, Mr Moran. It would look like you got yourself into a bit of a scrape… Mr Moriarty at least,” he says, with a raised eyebrow at the apparently undamaged Sebastian. Jim can hear the unspoken question – _Weren’t you supposed to protect him?_ ; but Dr Rogers knows better than to challenge even Moriarty’s second in command.

“Four broken ribs on the left side. No punctures. Concussion. I’ll need something against the nausea, I can’t stay in bed for four days,” Jim says. The doctor frowns at him, but doesn’t comment as he turns around, walks ahead of them to a staircase leading to a basement that looks like a fully-functioning A&E.

“Let’s have a look,” he says, and points at an examination table. Jim sits down, and lets the doctor do his tests. His assessment is confirmed – of course it is, he knows how his body works. However, the doctor refuses to give him anti-emetics. “I really cannot condone that, Mr Moriarty. You need bed rest. Brain damage could occur if you don’t rest, and I do believe you maintain that your brain is your best asset. I will give you some strong pain killers to deal with the pain in your ribs and head.”

“No.” Jim says.

The doctor looks at him exasperated. “Mr Moriarty, these are perfectly safe, they will not interfere with your functioning or perception…”

“No.” Jim says again. He doesn’t take pain killers, or allow himself to be anaesthetized, ever. He wants to know exactly what is going on at all times. That’s why he doesn’t take drugs, or drink more than a glass or two. His mind is sharp and in control. Anything that dulls it is to be avoided. In case of injuries like this, he knows how to compartmentalize the pain. Physical pain is easy.

The doctor sighs. This isn’t the first time they’ve had this discussion. He turns to Sebastian: “Mr Moran, please keep a close eye on him for the next 24 hours. If any vomiting occurs, or his symptoms worsen, or anything out of the ordinary presents itself, do get in touch with me immediately. Otherwise, keep him on bedrest for the rest of the week at least. He needs to drink plenty of fluids; no alcohol or drugs except the pain killers that I’ve prescribed and you are going to take with you, no strenuous mental or physical activity, even if it’s in the bed.” Seb nods and takes the bottle of pills the doctor holds out to him.

Jim gently lowers himself off the examination couch, into Seb’s arms. He points at the chair the sniper had been waiting in. “Let me sit there. Let the doctor look at your feet.”

Sebastian sits down on the examination couch and undoes his boots. His socks, once white, are soaked with blood. Jim winces. ( _Really Jim? *wince*? At a bit of blood?_ ) Seb carefully rolls the socks off his feet, trying not to tear open the wounds. It looks like he did a reasonable job of bandaging himself before coming out, but he definitely should not have run for miles afterwards. The doctor looks on with a professional dispassionate face.

It’s Jim’s turn to hold Seb’s hand now. He doesn’t realize he’s doing it until he looks down and sees his fingers wrapped around Seb’s.

Dr Rogers is unwrapping Seb’s blood-soaked bandage and frowning.  Don’t frown doctor. It’s not serious. It is NOT serious. You will clean the wound and he will be as good as new. He will. Or I will kill you, doctor. I will kill everyone.

“Eh, Jim, you’re squashing my hand.”

“I am? Sorry Tiger.” Jim unclenches his hand. The doctor knows better than to ask questions. He looks at the ravage of Seb’s left foot, cleans off the blood, prods the spot where the toe used to be attached. “Does this hurt?”

“Yes,” Seb says, gritting his teeth.

“That’s good. I was afraid you might have killed the nerve and that might have caused complications. You shouldn’t have walked around on it though. I’ll clean the wound, then stitch it – try not to do a lot of walking in the next few days. I assume you don’t share Mr Moriarty’s entirely unreasonable aversion to anaesthetic?”

“No, go for it.”

Dr Rogers injects Seb’s foot, then starts rummaging around in there with tools, pulling things and prodding stuff. Jim looks away. Why is he having trouble looking at this? He’s cut people open millimetre by millimetre before just to see how they’re put together. But right now he feels sick to his stomach. It must be the concussion.

The doctor finishes bandaging Seb’s left foot. “Right, this will be rather painful in the coming days. I will get you some pain killers as well, and I suggest you take them, and keep the foot up as much as possible. That should do it; you’ll be running the London Marathon again in a month or so. Now let’s have a look at the other foot.”

He bends over Sebastian’s right foot, frowns, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. Jim knows what he’s thinking. And he doesn’t care. The doctor isn’t paid to think. Not about this, anyway. Absentmindedly he strokes Seb’s palm.

Dr Rogers anaesthetizes Seb’s right foot as well, before tearing the bloody line open again to clean it out with cotton buds and disinfectant. Jim can hear his thoughts as clearly as if he was speaking them out loud.

_Sick. Depraved. Psycho._

He wants to kick him, kick his head in until he stops thinking those thoughts, but he can’t, he needs him to fix Seb’s foot. God, his head is hurting.

“Jim?” Seb’s voice pierces through his growling. Is he growling? He hadn’t realized. He really needs to calm down. His head is hurting, he needs a drink, and some sleep.

Finally the doctor finishes his ministrations, gives them pills, talks about rest, fluids, no drink, no drugs, no sex (well, he doesn’t mention the latter, but heavily hints). He gets some shoes out for Jim – a size and a half too large, but better than nothing. Seb helps him to the car.

His head is pounding when they get back to the apartment. He drags himself to the spare bedroom, falls down on the bed. Bad idea – the room takes revenge by spinning round as fast as it can. Closing his eyes doesn’t help. He groans, focuses on one spot and tries to will it to stay still. The spot is obscured by a pair of hips in combat trousers, and Seb sits down on the bed beside him.

“Here. I got you some clean clothes. Change into these, you’ll feel much better,” Sebastian says, holding out some ghastly orange tracksuit bottoms he got from god knows where and a black cotton t-shirt. Jim lets himself be undressed, carefully, gently, and dressed in clean, soft clothes.

“Get me a whisky. I need a drink.” He looks at Seb, daring him to challenge him. Fortunately Seb gets up without comment, comes back with a bottle and two glasses.

“Check the leaflet with those happy pills you got first, don’t want you fainting on me,” Jim says as he carefully moves up a bit so he’s leaning against the pillow. Seb pours him a glass, which he drains in a gulp – a cardinal sin with an exclusive single malt like this, but he needs it. His stomach protests, but it can go fuck itself. He leans back on the pillow, waits for the room to stop spinning.

He feels Seb get in on the other side of the bed, moving slowly and gently so as not to rock the bed too much. He feels the other man edge closer to him, wrapping his arm around him, careful not to touch any injuries.

He is done resisting. For now, this is good. His Tiger is here, and still devoted to him, for whatever sick reasons the man has in his mind. For now, just for tonight, he will let himself be held. He will rest in the strong arms, and worry about the world tomorrow.

For now, this is good.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a roleplay with dishonorabletiger/ThisSimp1eFee1ing, from this prompt: http://mormorprompts.tumblr.com/post/108245056774/you-inconsiderate-lying-bastard-jim-i-cant.
> 
> Many thanks for letting me explore my inner Jim for the first time. My mind is sicker than I thought. I hope you enjoy it.


End file.
